


When the heaven touches (all hell breaks loose)

by ruby_dream



Series: when the angel (devil) falls [1]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Mikoto has just enough grief, Reisi is manipulative jerk, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, THIS IS SO OOC, kings are too stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7246366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruby_dream/pseuds/ruby_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that this is an endeavor of deity’s kindness toward men’s folly.</p><p>He would disagree though. </p><p>Or an AU which everyone has their soulmates but the world is not made only with sun and rainbow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the heaven touches (all hell breaks loose)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sazyanaita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sazyanaita/gifts).



> Disclaimer: Neither K anime and soul-identifying mark plot is mine
> 
> Note: let’s just say this is just a sorry excuse to write soulmark fic that no one asks for, really. But the idea is just too cute to pass, and this is the perfect excuse to write stupid cheesy fluff with highly OOC of everyone! Sazyanaita brings up about soulmark first (since I've never heard of it before), so this is all dedicated to her. (I didn't make a mistake, did I?) *pokes* Maybe she will write much more adorable Mikorei soulmark stuff *_*
> 
> The settings take place in K anime, but let’s just say that season 1 doesn't happen. I know I should be writing my assignments. I know I should write Jewel Prism…I’m sorry. But hey, I’ve gone MIA like…3 months? Definitely getting dull in writing, so a practice in necessary.

They say that this is an endeavor of deity’s kindness toward men’s folly.

He would disagree though.

Or at least he doesn’t care. Most of the times. A pitch coal twin-wolf like symbol on the back of his left hand is just like another scar he bore, or a tattoo, as far as he is concerned. Yet it hums with certain itch that crawls into a dull throb behind his closed eyes. He hisses before he realizes it, resisting the gentle alarm from his slumber.

“Mikoto,” a soft voice floated beside the couch, pure and innocent that only one person he knows that possesses such tranquility in her vessel, yet so fiery with hidden passion. “Does it hurt?” She queries, so innocently that he has no heart to ignore the question.

He mumbles, only for her ears before he shuts his eyes close again, waiting for the tingling to fade away along with his supposedly soul mate, “No…”

After several minutes, the mild pulse dies down and Mikoto scrutinizes the black-marred symbol before he knows it. If he can feel it, then his destined partner should feel the call too. Yet none of them attempts to find one another, let alone for the link to take place. He feels partially relieved, that he doesn’t have another thing to trouble his mind with (not that he would even really consider about it).

Mikoto finds this soul mate business one kind of a joke though. The world seems to put romance over the concept excessively regardless which centuries, that most people entertains the idea so much they allow it to decide their lives over superstition. Not he really can blame them when most parents will edify this deep-engrained tradition to their children when the symbol appears on somewhere on the skin from early age. Or when the media constantly broadcasts that it is a good system which no one is alone, since there should be someone who bears your mark and will share their lives with you once you find them.

No scientific research has identified the configuration behind it, despite how advanced technology has gone. Since ancient times, every person will bear a mark, without failure, so singular and identical to someone who is supposedly his/her soulmate. It will appear when your soulmate is born and it may be anywhere on the body. Some appears in completely bare patch of skin, just like his, some may be tricky to find. In his case, he has no intent to conceal it since he could be careless about it.

They said that when your soulmate is within certain range, the symbol will alert you his/her presence by burning or itching. Somehow that sounds ridiculous as if the symbol can sniff each other. Regardless what he thinks, once you touch your significant other, skin to skin, the link will take place and it will nudge you to nurture the connection. It will grow with myriad rate with every encounters, every words exchanged, and every sliver of touch. If ignored, it will throb into dreary ache before it completely ebbs away over weeks, dying from the lack of contact. However, if the link is tended, at certain level the bond, which is something like marriage of souls (again with the excessive fiction), will permanently settle with several troubles and complications.

The couples with the bond will develop affinity toward each other. The fundamental emotions will stream from the link, regardless their consent, thus allowing their partner to understand turmoil or delight of heart without deceit. With stronger signal than the link, it also helps the couples to locate each other within certain range. If cherished duly, the presence of the soulmate will relieve the distressed mind, like a natural sedative, thus preventing the flux of psychological problems. In contrary, if the tethered bond is severed, be it by infidelity or disagreement or death, the withdrawal will be so atrocious that there is usual reporting of suicides and sudden medically-unexplained deaths after the loss of the partner.

Nevertheless, despite all these accommodating devices, a small number of people still don’t manage to find their significant ones. Or despite all this custom, minority of society is just like him, not giving a damn about this thing, or even skeptical about it. Some says that the empathy that develops from the relationship is confusing and fabricating their own emotions that they cannot be certain if the sentiment really belongs to them or not. Some fears the implication of sharing souls, leaving your mind bare for the other to read like open book. The other simply hates the idea of dependence on a stranger, who knows nothing about you and yet claims to be the finest existence for your life. Heck, there are even people who admits that they don’t want to be bound to someone and live as free as they can, entertaining the freedom of loves.

In Mikoto’s case, he has a vague picture where his soulmate could be. It is not hard to connect the dots when he always feels the flutter of his link to whomever it is whenever the Blue Clan is within sight. After all, it’s not a rare occurrence for both clans to clash and the hums always tug behind his mind whenever he sees those self-important military forces. Nevertheless, he never pursues the answer, and the accident never presents itself. He never bothers with the small fry of Scepter 4, knowing full well that they could not contain him or satisfy the sing of his scorching blood. Thus there goes his prospect of initial contact. The only one he has ever touched would be the smug Blue King, and it was more like a contact between aura shields or blade against knuckle. The thought that his soulmate resides on the latter clan makes his stomach churn unhappily. He just can’t handle their fascination toward their self-proclaimed justice, especially their humorless, eerie king, Munakata Reisi. He can’t bear the notion of touching anything of Scepter 4, It feels like touching them will infect him with their sickly obsession to their _justice_.

Anna stares at her own symbol, with the shape of simple bow and arrow, blatantly glares back at her slightly above elbow which is usually hidden under the ruffle crimson sleeves. Her ruby eyes then searched for Mikoto’s golden ones and leaned closer as she speaks, “I have never felt anything like that.”

Mikoto looks at her from the periphery before he lifts his hand to pat her head and ruffle her silver strands a bit. “Maybe one day,” he says without thinking and his hand slips to her pale ivory cheek.

She leans toward his large hand, relishing in its warmth. After a comfortable silence, she asks quietly, “Mikoto doesn’t want to find the one?”

A small tug reaches the corner of his lips.

And she doesn’t pursue.

If only life wouldn’t toy with his life, his daily routine could be better. Alas, it always finds a way to trip him up.  
  


* * *

 

“Congratulations, Kusanagi!”

The cheers and friendly slaps on shoulders echo in the empty bar. It is almost noon and yet the bar is fully occupied by members of the clan. The said man wonders if he should be happy, so he comes up with half-strained smile. The icy blue snake on the back of his shoulder gleams with new life, like a sprouting bud of spring flower. He can feel a faint silver thread connecting to someone in the distant bureau, although he can’t sense her beyond that. He is not certain yet how he should feel being bound after years of straying from one to another flower, especially to this soulmate to boot.

“So you finally meet your lucky lady!”

“Who is she!?”

“Bet she is pretty. He likes beautiful women.”

“Come on, tell us! No secret between friends, man.”

The constant pestering swallows his opportunity to keep silent. When the noise becomes unbearable, he finally answers that comes out from his throat like a squeak, “Scepter 4’s lieutenant, Seri.”

A long, wintry silent immediately dawns on the whole clan.

 _Well, it’s not that bad,_ he thinks. Seri is pretty, determined, independent and certainly attractive, even if she is like a snow woman when she is at work. Soulmate or not, he has been slightly infatuated by her, even before the revelation of their links.

It’s actually an accidental encounter. He definitely feels the whine call whenever she is close, but he never acts on it, and neither she is, if he recalls now. It’s an accidental brush of fingers when he passes the report regarding a recent strain-illegal experiment in Homra’s turf. He always acts as the mediator between two clans since the rest of the member is not exactly capable to rein their emotions around the adversary clan to have diplomatic conversation. While Kusanagi agrees that Blue Clan should stay away from their territory, Scepter 4 is a legal organization, specifically made to handle supernatural problems. It helps no one if Homra keeps acting like opposing government.

Thus, when a slight touch electrifies both of them, and he could feel the connecting link to Seri, he isn’t sure how he should take it. Yes, he is attracted to her, but she belongs to rival clan. He dreads that his impartial position as the mediator would waver. While he indulges in his inner turmoil, she only stares at him with fleeting surprise, before her expression softens and flashes a brief smile, “Well, I should have expected that.”

And in exactly three seconds, her smile turns stoic and into her usual professional frown, “We’ll talk about it later. Now about this illegal group…”

As if she hasn’t just found her one lifetime soulmate.

 And to his horror, he actually feels glad that it’s her.  
  


* * *

 

“You will be on house arrest for three days, Fushimi,” A gentle tenor voice hurts his ears, with its implied reprimand. “And I hope you would solve your issue within given period since this tactless behavior during field mission is unsightly.”

 “Mission accomplished, Captain. What could you ask for more?” The raven-head snaps, barking like an aggravated dog.

The glitter of sharp violet eyes locked on him is enough to immediately clamp his mouth although his superior states the fact flatly, “Three heavily wounded, ten requires hospitalization; I hope you would not be foolish enough to demand answer to that question.”

Fushimi rolls his eyes in exasperation but says nothing. He could come up with hundred comebacks as easily as he cracks the SDF’s mainframe security, but his king would definitely deflect them with thousand methods and he doesn’t feel like at receiving ends of those sweet-laced deadly remarks. The last time he saw him using it on the prime minister, the latter’s face was so colored like he was thoroughly steamed in very slowly but torturous way. The prime minister looked like in the brink of bawling his eyes off that his captain decides to back down and excuse himself with his pleasant smile, as if he hasn’t just made a traumatized adult almost weeping like a baby. No, he is absolutely not foolish enough to incite his captain’s ruthless side.

“Yes, sir,” Fushimi curtly replies and whirls around to walk away from the very source of his discomfort. His hand is about to reach the gold-colored door handle when his captain decides to bruise his already wounded ego.

“While this is not my place to speak, I hope you will resolve the matter with your partner as soon as possible, Fushimi. This conduct will not be tolerated next time, thus please refrain any behavior that would strain your bond.”

The sapphire-eyed man looks back through his shoulder to scowl openly, “It _is_ a private matter, Captain.” Or he actually means, _don’t meddle with my business, you bastard_. But Reisi would not be chosen as the king if he is easily intimidated by his thousands-dagger glare, so he lowers his eyes and strides out of the room with his dignity in tatter, fighting the urge to slam the grand door behind his back just to make his point.

Once he finds his feet on the empty hallway, Fushimi leans back against the door and sighs dramatically. After several huffs, he searches for his PDA and glares at the empty inbox.

He is about to push his PDA back to his pocket when it suddenly vibrates. A quick glance at the caller ID, he couldn’t tone down the apparent glee from his lips.

_About time._

Seriously, this regular pattern of 3 days separation after a fight before they patch up (which Misaki _always_ initiates reconciliation first) starts to get old after a while. But Fushimi certainly will not pass up for a certain red-head vanguard to come at him with apology. He does miss him after all, and the tension of their link starts to grate on his nerve more than he would like to admit. It isn’t like him to get out of control during mission when it doesn’t involve his soulmate’s safety that even his captain has to admonish him.

Well, his pride be damned, at the moment he really looks forward these upcoming three days.  
  


* * *

 

Mikoto cannot comprehend how exactly the adversary in front of him could bear wearing all those attire in the middle of summer. Why won’t Scepter 4 make summer uniform or something that actually allows them to breath in such hot weather, considering they can simply leech goverment’s finance? Except for their beautiful blond lieutenant, who is flashing her smooth legs without any ulterior intention, to Izumo’s guilty pleasure, they are all wearing stifling long-sleeved cobalt blue-trench coat above the white shirt with pants and boots. He feels suffocated just from watching them.

There must be a twist in world’s logic that the man in front of him barely breaks a sweat, despite all those ridiculous garments. And oh, he nearly forgets those white gloves that Munakata constantly wears. Somehow he wonders if the latter is mysophobic or just another average person who antagonizes the soulmate concept. They all know that the soulmate link can only be instigated from skin contact, therefore people who avoids the initiation stereotypically wears gloves.

Or maybe he is just a uniform geek like that. This one sounds more likely.

So he can’t resist for not asking in the middle of their clash (or more likely, he attacks and Munakata subdues. Well, it takes two to have this violent dance, so the brawl is not entirely his fault), “Don’t you think you should have summer uniform? I feel stifled just from looking.” He calls forth his Aura and lunges forward to slam his flame-engulfed fists on the blue icy wall. The crackling sound and the friction between colliding auras scorch his blood for more release from his inner volcano that he constantly has to suppress from getting feral.

An acerbic smirk reaches the corner of those cherry lips, “Then, all the more reason to wear it. It is my pleasure to make you uncomfortable.” Reisi hastily leaps back to keep the distance between them, to prevent further collision once he senses the flare erupting from the impact. If he allows Mikoto to have his way, it will not cost only one or two public buildings and he cannot have that. The only reason he comes out from the haven of his chilly office is to prevent a particular barbarian from making a mess and adding the mountain of paper works on his table after all.

And to avoid a plate of cold, unappetizing red bean paste, laying waste on his table, if he had to admit the truth.

The hierarchy of his reasons for joining the field mission is so messed up, but he believes that another cold red bean paste for this summer, and he will call in sick with migraine. He can just blame it on the heat. The rest of Scepter 4 men are obviously avoiding their lieutenant, especially on this season, and he is not an exemption. Seri thinks that the cold snack will help them to get through the blistering noon; oblivious to the fact that her considerate grace is not appreciated beyond the intention.

“It would be polite to return the gesture then,” Mikoto grins mischievously as he gallantly throws a gigantic crimson sphere at the latter, “to make you uncomfortable.”

Reisi expands his glacial blue fields as if it attempts to swallow the oversized globe. The sparks flies every direction once they meets, leaving some rumbles around them in fire, but the sphere is chipped into smaller size before it evaporates between them. “I have to politely turn down your offer. You make me uncomfortable as it is.”

Those violet eyes glance away from Mikoto for a second, and the Red King feels insulted for getting diverged attention from his opponent. He is quite occupied with his dented ego that he doesn’t read the brief hesitation from the latter nor the reason behind it. Moreover, the hum on the back of his mind, the usual alarm to notify the presence of his soulmate nearby, starts to irk him to let him watch his surroundings. The Red King throws another upper jab that immediately gets blocked with the silver saber. He follows with another punch, aiming for Reisi’s face when the latter avoids it by hairline with insulting ease. The edge of his collar burns from the graze. The dark-blue haired king attempts to knock his balance off by tripping his feet, but Mikoto sees it miles away before that he steps away from the intruding leg. That creates some space between them. And from the triumphant smirk on Reisi’s face, the distance between them is probably what he aims for and he is being played, to Mikoto’s annoyance.

However, it is still close enough to see the black mark on Reisi’s exposed lower neck, which is usually covered by his collar shirt. It takes the form of a scale. _The symbol is just so him_ , Mikoto reflects. And by the color of it, it means he doesn’t initiate the link yet. Yet, somehow, he feels a slight discomfort on his chest at the sight of it. _So, even this pain-in-the-ass king has a soulmate,_ that thought crosses his mind.

He must be staring too blatantly for the Blue King to follow his gaze. His pale hand immediately reaches up to cover the symbol before glowering at the red-haired king. “It is impolite to stare at other’s soul mark.”

Mikoto simply shrugs and mocks, “I see what I see. No need to look so violated like a virgin.”

The icy glare intensifies. Mikoto flashes his symbol on the back of his hand before the latter carelessly. The gesture only earns him a puzzled frown. He finally says after noticing the confusion on Reisi’s features, “Eye for an eye. We should be even if I show you my symbol, right?”

Reisi rolls his eyes in exasperation and replies, utterly deadpanned, “I know your symbol months ago, Suoh. It is not as if you are trying to hide it.”

Mikoto smirks almost hideously, “What about not staring at people’s mark?”

The Blue King snorts and points his saber at Mikoto, “I do _not_ stare. As I have said, you show it off, even though I do not intend to look at that repulsive thing, so the blame is all yours.”

“I’m glad though.”

An eyebrow cocks up, “Why?”

Mikoto runs his fingers on his hair, “So you’re not my soulmate.”

A small twitch goes almost unnoticeable if Mikoto doesn’t watch the other king like a hawk, as if measuring his reaction. Nevertheless, those sharp eyes on him never flicker, like cold mauve glass beads, displaying no emotion within them. His lips remain tight in thin line as he declares after a short, uncomfortable silence, “That should be my line.”

Mikoto sighs, suddenly losing the spirit to draw out the clash between them, after the sudden revelation. He simply turns his back on Reisi without second glance, ignoring the threats escaping Reisi’s throat, which are full of promise of sentence for his next misbehavior.

The spasm on his gut still lingers though, to his annoyance. It keeps flutter, even at the sight of their red princess and the cheery blond man standing beside her.  
  


* * *

 

“I’m sorry, I might not be able to come home,” Reisi speaks with a tint of fondness underneath his firm note to the phone. He leaves the comfort of his office seat and steps to the nearby window, basking under the sunlight passing through the glass. “An emergency might arise during that moment, and it would be wise not to leave.”

“You are working too hard. Mom tells me to tell you to take care of your health,” the caller replies. Reisi cannot help the smile on his lips. “I know. Please send my regards to mother and father. I hope your family is well as well.”

His brother laughs cheerfully like summer breeze, “We are doing fine! You should go home once in a while. Your niece and nephew miss you. And you know, it will be great if you bring someone home. Mom says that you should be more active to find your soulmate. With all those facilities you have, it…”

Reisi abruptly cuts him, “There is an urgent matter I have to attend. I’ll talk to you later, brother.”

His brother is probably still in the middle of his preach when he cuts off the line. While it might be rude, this is one topic that he never likes to have, considering his brother’s habit to fuss over him. Reisi exhales with relief at his PDA, when the light dies out from the screen without any following call. He absentmindedly rubs the itching symbol on his lower neck, which never stops being irritating ever since it taints his ivory skin. He knows he should stop before it turns into glaring rash but the urge to scratch is hard to tone down.

He snaps out the habit once he hears the knock on his door.  
  


* * *

 

“I guess we are lucky that we find each other rather easily, right?” Misaki grins as he sprawls on the bed next to his soulmate; half-decent with the blanket covers their lower halves. His innocent smile is so infectious, that even without their link, Fushimi couldn’t help but feeling giddy at the sight of it. He reaches out for his glasses, which Misaki has placed it on the top of their futon before their make-up sex. Once it tugs on the bridge of his nose, he feels a relief of familiarity as the world doesn’t appear like blurry light. That faint sense seems to reach Misaki that the latter makes a soft laugh at Fushimi. The raven-head wrinkles his nose in half-hearted dissent.

“Yet we still fight so often,” Fushimi huffs although his deep blue eyes never leave the twinkling hazel ones.

Misaki shifts to nudge playfully on the shoulder, “But the angry sex feels good. Admit it.”

The latter clicks his tongue and pretends not hearing him, but the refined empathy between them betrays his thought. He begrudgingly murmurs, “Maybe.” He quickly steals a peck on glowing cheek and averts the conversation to more comfortable direction. “Why suddenly brings it up?”

“Hmm, I’m just curious who Totsuka’s soulmate is. He had never felt the call, he said, after all this time.” Misaki sighs pleasantly as he feels the comfort of Fushimi’s lithe hand on his hairs. He always feels the nagging guilt for having it easy while his comrades are not as fortunate as he is. Fushimi seems to understand, but never brings it up.

“What about the strain?”

 If they didn’t have the link between them, Misaki would probably be furious at his nickname to Anna. But despite his word, the vanguard catches a rare sliver of affection when Fushimi asks about her. Misaki simply narrows his eyes, but holds his tongue to correct him. “Anna is still young. She doesn’t need to find her soulmate.”

Fushimi shakes his head with yield, saying without the usual bite in it, “Always a knight in shining armor.”

“Oh, shush,” Misaki rolls his eyes, “That’s pot calling the cattle black.”

“Now what is that exactly supposed to mean, smartass?”

“You said similar thing when we brought up about your captain’s soulmate.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Fushimi feels immature already, “No, I’m not!”

Misaki gives him his _‘Really? We’re doing this again?’_ stare. “Yes, you are. You told me and I quoted, ‘Captain is a King. He doesn’t need his soulmate.”

“That’s not my line. I hear him directly from his mouth,” Fushimi deadpans.

Misaki shrugs and comments, “And you share similar sentiment.”

A long silence falls between them. It should be awkward, yet Misaki nearly lulls off from the afterglow and the calm between them. He is about to surrender to the sweet temptation of sleep when Fushimi breaks the quiet with a frown on his forehead, “I just can’t imagine it. I _might_ actually pity his significant other.” Misaki can’t resist bursting to laughter at his boyfriend’s distressed face.  
  


* * *

 

For the first time in his life, Izumo actually experiences the fluttering butterfly in his stomach as he waits in front of certain blonde’s apartment door. It is certainly not his first date with a woman, and he is not exactly an inexperienced cherry boy, but everything seems to be out of the window with this new feeling residing in his chest. He and Seri could be called associates before they find out about the bond and they have hang out often enough, partially due to their line of work. Yet, he jitters like high-school teenager on his first prom with his date. This is their first, official date after the initiation of the link and he could already imagine how all things going south. Somehow things with Seri seem to be easier before.

His wrecked train of thought comes into abrupt halt once she slides through the open door with a dazzling smile. She curls the end of her strands, letting them cascading on the sides of her face lustrously. Her white knee-length dress accentuates her perfect figure with the low-cut neckline and the material seems to rustle sinfully against her sheltered thighs. Just a glance on her rosy-wine lips and his mind starts to wonder how it probably feels on his. Seri clears her throat after a while, obviously noticing his lingering, admiring stare but is still kind enough not to look affronted. A long letter is already on his mind, depicting and praising her ethereal beauty, yet none of them could be formed into words on his tongue. He quickly collects himself and reaches for her hand to bring her knuckles his lips.

“Night is only for so long. Shall we?” He offers his arm to her. Her glacial eyes scrutinize the offered arm before she tentatively circles her arm around his.

“Before we start, there are several things I have to make clear.” She cranes her neck to look straight at him. Izumo already feels parched with tremendous need to flee from the shattering heartbreak.

“…Okay,” He hesitantly answers, coaxing her to go on while bracing for anything she throws at him.

“This is awkward, as if we don’t know each other just because we find out about the soulmate. We are supposed to be associates, so let’s start from there instead of strangers,” Seri throws a sharp glare at him and he feels embarrassed for treating her like his usual random dates.

Izumo reflexively says, “I’m sorry.” 

She nodded lightly and continues on her tirade, “And we are not going to a formal party or in need of disguise. Take a deep breath, won’t you? I feel intimidated with your sudden gentleman conduct. It isn’t because I dislike it, but you are too stiff and distant and you feel like someone I’ve never known.”

“Okay…,” he trails off with weak smile. Five minutes meeting his date and he is already reproached. Yep, tonight definitely won’t be going well, he decides. The churn on his stomach immediately worsens.

Until she tightens her embrace with a cheeky smile, that is. “Then, please lead the way, gentleman.”

A sparkle of hope rises on his chest and he beams back, “Certainly, mademoiselle.”  
  


* * *

 

It is like a movie scene when time seems to freeze for the isolated world, shared between a hero and his nemesis. If he was not too occupied with the bizarre event before him, he would have laughed at the joke.

_But it should be impossible!_

His mind screams and the black scale symbol on the man above him seems like taunting at him. Mikoto instantly sees the surprise, and a small hint of dread reflected on Reisi’s eyes. His brain struggles to replay the scene before this incident, trying to understand when they have gone wrong.

An illegal group of mafias plan to mess on his territory by selling drugs and illegal strains. The Red Clan marches with thirst of blood for retribution. No one shall ever tell the tale that they have it easy after trespassing Homra’s territory. And everything goes like their routine in general. Illegal strains scurry all over the places, trying to escape as the Red King destroys half of the building and the usual honorable Scepter 4 rapidly intercepts them to force their justice on the fiery Homra. The members of the clan face each other, with the crossing transparent blue blades and streams of flame coloring all over the battlefield. Being the Kings, they are attentive enough to keep the distance from their clan members to have their own battle on beyond human level.

As usual, one of them brings forth the Sword of Damocles. This time, Reisi is the first one to call his sword, exclaiming that he would render him half-dead for ignoring his warnings. They exchange blows, leaving the sparks all over the place like fireworks. The smell of burning smoke and the heat of hot air dwelling around them are so familiar like their typical jazz. With the arena filled with smoke obscuring his sight, Reisi takes the advantage of the cover to launch his strike, aiming for his leg. He manages to evade the attack, but the pool of water forming from melting ice and the condensed air causes him to blunder. He slips, and that fleeting second is more than enough to turn the favor of the fight. Before Mikoto could regain his balance, his rival pushes him down on the ground with his sheathed saber on his neck threateningly.

“This is the last warning, Suoh,” He spats, as if mentioning Mikoto’s name burns his tongue. The Blue King presses sword harder as Mikoto wriggles underneath him with a snarl. “Next time you act out of law, I will not hesitant to take extreme measure against you, like imprisoning all the members of Homra.”

“You won’t dare,” Mikoto sneers at him and with abrupt strength, he pushes back against Reisi. Once one of his hands is free, it grabs at the white collar before the blue-haired king could stop the attack. And then it all happens. His knuckles brush against the ivory skin next to the collar and the next thing he realizes, Reisi is straddling his stomach like a deer caught in the headlights, clenching his left hand to his chest. His left hand also quivers with numbness like he has been electrocuted. It takes a moment for him to consider the possibility that Reisi has wielded his thunder magic on him. But the expression on the man above him obviously states otherwise.

Mikoto lifts his left hand to inspect the symbol. It has shimmered with vibrating life with the color of royal blue, instead of black. Comprehension immediately dawns upon him and with a swift of motion, he catches Reisi’s left hand by surprise, forcing it out of the safety cradle of his right hand. The red-head man attempts to pull on the glove, but Reisi struggles with pushing and clawing at Mikoto’s persistent grip. They throw indistinct insults at each other, snarling like beasts running on survival instinct at each other’s throat. Eventually the glove is in shred during the fight, revealing the crimson-marred identical symbol to his on that pale skin. Just a glimpse is enough. Mikoto releases his clutch, more like from shock of the confounding truth, than his respect for the other’s need for space.

A handprint bruise, which will certainly turn purple tomorrow, blooms on Reisi’s wrist. The Red King is expecting a string of verbal abuse or maybe a punch he deserves, but it never comes. Instead, he finds himself in front of an eerily calm Blue King. He pushes his upper body to get a better look at his soul-, enemy. Reisi sits on his heels, not bothering to cover his mark any longer, although his gaze is elsewhere but Mikoto.

“Oi, Munakata. What the hell? Your mark on your nec-“

He finds his back suddenly sprawled on the ground, staring at the blurry azure blue sky with sharp pain on his cheek. Well, he has been expecting that a minute ago, so this is rather good because it means that he still can read Reisi to certain extent. Mikoto swears he hears a crack sound a splitting second before the pain. He scowls inwardly, ‘ _Did he use the hilt of his sword to hit me?’_

“ _You son of a bitch_ ,” the growl grows louder as Reisi repeats. Mikoto is too stunned, relishing in the moment he notices for the first time he hears inappropriate profanity from the latter. All this time, no matter how far Mikoto aggravates him, he receives nothing beyond icy sardonic replies.

“You’re the lying bastard!” Mikoto accuses back, pushing off the ground to sit and confront Reisi with fresh fury. He doesn’t even understand the reason for his sudden rage, but the lava in his chest is so burning and gurgling like it waits to explode at the sight of that revolting mark on Reisi’s neck. The wrath is so mingled with pain like tangled cords; it blinds him from anything else. The sinister emotion seems like his, but at the same time, it feels like it belongs to another. Like a mirror, the Blue King wears the same expression. The colors of blue and red rapidly fly everywhere, so brimmed with violent hurt, anger and mortified that Reisi doesn’t even notice the ruins around them until Totsuka has to jeopardize his life to cease down the Red King’s fury. The blond has leapt to embrace Mikoto’s back to stop him from hurling another fireball at his supposedly soulmate. Anna’s watering ruby eyes search for Mikoto she loves. Seri looks surprised with the rumbles she witnesses before giving him her concerned look.

Once he realizes his blunder and the surrounding spectators, Reisi takes a deep breath, attempting vainly to quell his rage. He quickly steps back and leaves the proof of his breakdown in haste without a second glance.  
  


* * *

 

“Would you require some assistance… with _that_ , Captain?”

The swift motion of the hand paused momentarily before it continues with the work. Reisi barely lifts his head from the pile of paper in front of him to meet her careful gaze. “It will not be necessary, Awashima. This is the embarrassment I have to accept for my lack of insight.”

She sighs dramatically before argues, “But it will take you hours to complete them, Captain. I’m sure the Gold King would understand if you receive the aid.”

Reisi’s eyes twitch for a second, in annoyance to certain senior king and his predicament, “I believe that the completion of the punishment is not his objective. It will be fine, Awashima. This will not disrupt my work and please do not hesitate to bring urgent matter to my attention.”

Seri nods in understanding and watches him writing with neat inscription on the blank slate paper. It looks ridiculous when the Gold King sends such juvenile ultimatum for the fourth king to write a hundred page of apology letter for his previous catastrophic encounter with Red King, like the methods they commonly use on high school teenager for their mischief. Being overachiever himself, Reisi must be an ideal student at his youth that apology letter seems like extraterrestrial thing to him. As she expects, he even has to ask her how to write one.  The dismayed look on her king is so priceless when she explains that he only requires repeating the same sentence. Its tedious element from that chore is probably what irritates her king.

He dutifully works on the letter, so her king most likely indeed feels accountable for how the event goes. In her opinion, the blame fully resides on the Red King’s side since he is a brute, but she does consider that her view is perhaps biased. Nevertheless, Seri just can’t find a sympathetic fiber in her muscle for Mikoto. For what she knows, Homra is held liable as well for the damage to public property. Just like how the Gold King knows that humiliation is the best punishment to Blue King, he also understands that there is nothing more painful for the Red King when it involves his friends. He sends a celestial amount of fine to Homra’s advisor, meaning Kusanagi Izumo, her soulmate. While Mikoto could be careless with anything the Gold King may throw at him since there is no shred of dignity called maturity or responsibility in his body, Izumo believes in the good for not getting on Gold King’s bad side. He explains that it will be bad for his business. Meaning, he will definitely attempt to pay the fine. Izumo tells her that Mikoto tosses away the fine letter, saying that he should not shoulder the debt. His empty threat is not enough to waver Izumo’s decision though and the remorse the Red King feels toward his friend probably what His Highness aims for.

And to think that her estimable king has such negligent person as his soulmate…Seri immediately sides with Fushimi on his opinion. Their Captain certainly deserves someone better, even if he has to defy soulmate system. Now that she thinks about it, it grates her curiosity about the mark hidden under his collar. Is it possible to have two soulmates, she ponders.

“Awashima, your stare hurts.”

Seri snaps out hastily and fights the blush on her cheeks. She must have ogled his neck excessively, to the border of being indecent. She stammers quickly and bows low, “I’m sorry, Captain!”

He runs his free hand to fidget with his collar, although his focus keeps trained on his letters. “It would be best not to invite groundless rumor, therefore allow me to clarify.” He stops writing momentarily, glancing up to lock at Seri’s eyes like a calm storm. “I do not have two soul marks. This one is just a ploy.”

“A…tattoo, sir?” She asks softly, as if he has just shared a national secret with her.

He sighs and returns his eyes to his menial task, “Since it has voided its use, I intend to remove it, but it lacks priority at the moment.”

 _So basically he uses it to divert Red King and involved parties into thinking that they don’t share the bond_ , Seri concludes. No one would ever think of searching for his true symbol if he flashes the false one, so no one would be suspicious of his gloves. That’s why Suoh accuses him being a liar that time.

She keeps her silence for a while and when it becomes clear that Reisi doesn’t intend to prolong the conversation, she pats herself for having some courage to ask, “Then what will you do about the link, Captain?”

He doesn’t even blink nor hesitate for a second to reply, “Nothing, of course. I hear the mark will return to its inactive color after certain period of time.”

“True,” She confirms with a firm nod. “But during that window period, it will be painful if neglected...”

“Your concern is not necessary, Awashima. I will be fine.”

Then the blonde sees the stifling smile, full of resolve, yet with a taint of stubborn ignorance reaching Reisi’s lips. She answers him with a curt nod, believing in his words like she always does, that she would have nothing to worry about.

If only she could get rid the nagging feeling in the corner of her mind, though…For now, she will pretend she doesn’t notice the faint, black circle under his eyes.  
  


* * *

 

The third day after the accidental contact, the withdrawal from the link worsens several times. The usual pressure he constantly feels ever since he shoulders the title of Red King, seems to multiply hundreds times. It becomes too frustrating that he starts to lose sleep and mostly, his patience. These three days, he attempts to get through the withdrawal by sleeping it off. He has spent majority of his time lounging on the couch, much longer than his standard routine. During his wake, he is easily irritated that it feels like fighting a losing battle as he tries to keep his temper from unintentionally lashing out on his friends or Anna.

Hell, even the bright sunlight annoys him.

However last night, it becomes too much that he barely gets a wink of sleep. His mind no longer orients around the burning city, smoke or destruction around him. It starts to blend with him, driven by madness, mercilessly killing his friends and laughing back at his helpless figure. He cannot move his legs as one of his impostor’s hands pulls Anna’s hair and grabs her fragile neck. Mikoto always wakes up with loud gasp, struggling to catch his breath and feeling more exhausted than before.

He has heard about the withdrawal phase and what it does. The red-haired man just never thinks that it will be this unfair. How could anyone not yielding to their soulmates with this kind of torture? How could anyone fight the sweet temptation of relief from this agony, even if they have to leap to another hell, called soulmates, only with less pain? However, if this is how fate intends to scorn him, he will prove it that nothing could rule over his life, not even this soulmate system. Moreover, he doesn’t want to have anything to do with the noxious Blue King anymore.

Even if he has to stop sleeping or isolate himself from his friends for weeks, Mikoto will reign free from this abominable link.

He would be able to pull the string, if it was just for few more weeks. Or so he thought.  
  


* * *

 

“He becomes more and more irritating,” Fushimi growls under his breath as he clenches his PDA in his fist. It is a bright summer Sunday, and the weather outside is just so unbearable, thus they spend their day on the living room, relaxing on the couch while basking on each other’s presence. The window is opened wide, letting the breeze carry the heat away from their apartment. His laptop in hibernate mode is on his lap. Misaki is currently sitting next to him, slightly leaning against his shoulder while playing his video games. They keep the TV turned off, relishing in the comfortable silence between them. Fushimi is so content with their position that he even bites back his comment that it is hot and he needs his space.

It is supposed to be a perfect weekend, except for a certain exasperating captain who has been on edge for a week. Fushimi is currently working on the report regarding their last capture on the illegal strain activity. Yet, this particular man has been pressing him for his report submission from three hours ago, when the latter usually refrains from disturbing his men on weekend or holiday unless it is an emergency.

His irritation must be relayed from the link. Misaki pauses his game and steals a peek on his PDA, “What’s wrong? You have murderous glare at your phone, you know.”

Fushimi snorts and grumbles, “Nothing. It’s just work.”

Misaki looks unconvinced so he keeps throwing a suspicious stare at him, “Well, if you say so.”

After a while, Fushimi gives up on the restrain from spewing his irritation. “It’s just he is being a total bastard for a week! He keeps working as if trying to occupy his mind with something. I don’t care if he overworks himself to death, but he also has to push more works on us that don’t really matter!” He realizes that he has forgotten to inhale once he stops. Misaki runs his hand consolingly on his back and grins apologetically.

“I know what you mean. Mikoto acts strange too ever since that disaster.”

“Hah,” Fushimi snorts. “He probably sleeps longer and acts more airy-headed than usual.”

Misaki squints his eyes at Fushimi, giving his silent warning from showering insults about Mikoto. But he is not about to start a fight yet, so he ignores it, “In contrary, he didn’t sleep much. Mikoto kept hounding our territory like a watchdog. Yesterday he even joined in doing rounds to keep the mafias from using our home as their playground.”

Fushimi gives him a pitiful look, “Somehow I doubt it went all well and diplomatic.”

Misaki has to grimly smile at his expression. “Well, yeah, we got into small fights a lot. Even Kusanagi starts to complain about the aftermath he has to handle, so we are on suspension or something like that.”

Fushimi ponders a good minute about the information he has just received. Then he puts his face on his hands with a dramatic sigh, “It means we are doomed, unless they resign to their fate or the withdrawal ends, right? And from the look of it, the latter is not an option and it will not end anytime soon, right?”

Misaki showers him with more consoling pats and butterfly kisses before he resumes his game, “Nope. Let’s just hope it will pass next week.”

“The rumor said that the cycle would run its course for two or three weeks before it started to ease away,” Fushimi corrects him, but the latter doesn’t seem to bother with the details. “One more week of hell, if it takes any longer, I will deliberately get myself another suspension.”

“You do that,” Misaki replies airily.  
  


* * *

 

The sharp, stabbing pound on his head returns as soon as his medicine exceeds its half-time. Not forget to mention, the murky, hideous feeling keeps twisting inside his belly for a week and a day. His dreams are interrupted with violent thoughts, including welling need for great-scale ruin and blood-thirsty spree. He wonders if this thought originates from his own deluded mind or Mikoto’s. Either way, it couldn’t be a good sign. Recently, the thought becomes much more aggressive. Even for a King like Mikoto, who is used to Red Aura’s violence tendency, this should pose too much to bear to wait until the withdrawal period is over.

Reisi keeps losing sleep and lately he even gets caught catching some nap on his desk by his lieutenant. She is sweet enough not to point it out and act oblivious around him, but he could sense her increasing anxiety whenever she visits his office. Nevertheless, even a short rest is not bliss, but another nightmare in disguise. He has never felt this drained and wretched, as if someone has stabbed him hundreds times over and he still cannot die yet. His concentration suffers, and his Clansmen treat him like they are walking on thin rope.

For the hundred times, he rubs his eyes sleepily, trying to read the report in front of him to no avail. His green tea has turned cold for the being left untouched for hours, still brimming full to the rim of the cup. His appetite has rocketed downhill, along with his desire for necessary sustenance like sleep or leisure. His freshly bought puzzle even starts to collect dust.

He notices that his nails indirectly rake on the twin-wolves symbol quite so often that it starts to bleed, and heal and then he tears the healing skin again by scratching at the glove. It just itches a lot and gets on his nerve. Eventually he could be careless about the blisters anymore. The symbol gets into deep vermillion color, much darker than the first day, as if expressing that the bond is furious at denial for the contact.

His bones ache with longing, screaming at the need to feel certain glowing warmth. He might have once wondered how the third king feels like if he touches that skin. Will it burn his fingertips or will it be like touching a normal person? He does feel something like interest toward Mikoto even before the link, but he deludes himself that it’s all due to King’s sympathy toward his equal. Reisi scowls, feeling betrayed by his own mind, while wondering if it is still sane enough to be called his own.

Reisi is about to shut his mind off by inflicting a new pain through biting his lower lips until it bleeds, when Seri knocks his door in hurry and enters his office without waiting for a reply. She seems to be running in hurry and her anxiety is reflected clearly on her face.

“Pardon my intrusion, Captain. There is a sighting of a Sword of Damocles in the residential area.”

He blinks slowly as he allows the information to fully dawn on him, before cursing his ignorance for not noticing it ahead. Reisi strides to the window in quick pace, only to curse inwardly at gigantic red sword hanging in the air, bristling with electrifying crimson vigor. From the sword’s condition, the Red King is probably engaged in a battle and he is releasing a very high output power. He should have expected this miles away. Mikoto should probably experience this similar wretched, ugly feeling for more than a week like him. In addition to the usual burden of explosive Red Aura, Mikoto is more like time-nuclear bomb this time. And instead of taking precaution against it, Reisi is too busy in tending his own matter and avoiding the Red King.

Reisi grabs for his saber and marches out of the door in haste, fighting the urge to vomit at the prospect of meeting Mikoto.  
  


* * *

 

When Reisi arrives at the site, hell will be an understatement.

The residential area has been destroyed flat to the ground, leaving only rumbles and ashes. In its epicenter of the ruin is a pillar of crimson, overwhelmed with tongues of Red Aura. The contrast white-clouded sky above seems to mock them, as if the heaven stays in its high throne as it witnesses the mortal destroys himself. Pushing away his astringent thought, Reisi focuses his attention to the pressing matter. He barely sees the bent figure with his familiar black jacket behind that fire wall and the heat radiating from that flawless shell is way high on different level from their accustomed encounter. The animalistic screech coming from that direction doesn’t sound human that it nearly gives him chill.

Kusanagi is restraining Totsuka from rushing to Mikoto’s side. The innocent blond believes in his king so blindly that Mikoto will never use his power to hurt his friends intentionally. But a quick assessment on Mikoto’s situation, Reisi knows that the bartender is making the right decision. Whatever madness Mikoto has plunged into, it is too deep to crouch his way back on his own. He doubts the latter even still retains his sanity.

The silver-haired princess immediately notices his presence and runs to him with teary eyes, “Please help Mikoto! He is in so much pain!” She cries, pleading with ruby orbs brimmed with silver tears.

Reisi nods unquestioningly, knowing full well that it is his sole duty to tame that wild flame. But how he is supposed to accomplish it without shedding blood, especially with a child to witness whatever he decides on?

He notices the flurry of blues bustling around methodically as they keep the parameter line, making certain the safety of the curious civilians, including most members of Homra. His lieutenant yells orders and instructions in most efficient way. His mind partially registers as a devoted feminine voice reports him that the parameter has been erected and they are ready for his command. The rest of it is in hazy red. The throbbing, vast pain assaults his senses, barraging his mind like a tsunami, more so when he lands his feet hundreds meter away from Mikoto. He feels the terrifying longing to touch the end of that silver thread that bristles with boundless anger for _being denied, being ignored, being trampled…_ His heart resonates to that blind rage with the need to douse it off, already feeling sick of with the tempest of negative emotions trying to drown him.

He doesn’t remember sending his Clansmen away to give them some distance, along with the rest of spectators in anticipation for the worst case. He works in automatic mode as his eyes never leave the burned shape. He definitely doesn’t remember if the area has been cleared or not when he attempts the mission that sounds suicidal, but the Blue King knows that he would not do otherwise despite the risk. He just has to work through the algorithm in his still-sane-but-only-slightly mind, because he has imagined this scenario hundreds times before, and what he would do, like solving puzzles; except this time Reisi doesn’t really think over his contingency plan if Mikoto is just beyond saving.

The dark-haired king only reaches a hundred meters away from his target when the Red Aura lashes out at him, pushing him away like he is the very source of Mikoto’s discomfort. _As if he is the one to blame for the breakdown of Mikoto’s sanity._

He cannot exactly refute that.

So this time, he answers the calling buzz.

The fourth king pushes against the defensive vermillion squall with diamond-edge wall, solely by his will. Consequences be damned, he can handle them later.  
  


* * *

 

_It’s hot._

_So unbearably hot._

And he feels so angry, so furious at something. He just doesn’t know what it is. His world seems to startlingly blur and he could see himself laughing and laughing in the middle of sea of flames, drenched in blood and sweat with his friends’ bodies on his feet. His nightmare must have invaded his reality again, and it is all up to him to collect the pieces. He tries to recall that a gang ambushes him in an alley, and Mikoto scowls at them. Then they threaten that they will harm his friends, starting from Tatara.

And then…and then, he sees himself standing there on top of the burning corpses with bloodied body of Tatara on his fist. Afterward, the heat becomes soothingly familiar, with all its wildness and madness. He doesn’t remember how long has passed, probably several minutes when his reality has shifted into this madhouse. Mikoto remembers that he has to regain some senses, or else he will hurt the precious ones to him and it will be over his dead body before it happens.

_But then, why can’t he remember their faces?_

He keeps hearing the faint painful howls. It sounds like his voice. But why does it sound so distant?

The flame keeps dancing around him, engulfing him like armor. Everything is dyed with red, so much red that Anna loves and he wonders if she will still love this kind of fire. _Hurting, spiking, numbing…_

Then Mikoto feels like he is suddenly doused with a bucket of ice water. The flame escapes from his grasp and the world shifts back into myriad blue and white that looks like summer blue sky. His muscles revolt with excruciating spasm, but his mind is as clear as a mirror. He gasps at the abrupt contrast, relishing in the exquisite sample taste of heaven while surrendering his unmoving vessel to the chill of the ground. Everything hurts, including the golden sunlight that falls on his eyes, but he is peaceful for a time that feels like forever like a dying ember.

It takes a while before he notices the extra weight on his left hand. Once he glances to his left, there is an exhausted crouched figure, cladded in memorable blue, gripping his hand like a lifeline. The smell of smoke reaches his nose and he notices the slight burn on that trench-coat.

“Munakata?” He croaks voice hoarse from dry throat. A small twitch on its back tells him that the latter could hear him. Nevertheless, Reisi doesn’t lift his head from Mikoto’s chest. Instead, he buries his face deeper into the white shirt, as if to delay the embarrassment.

Mikoto yields and tilts his head back to the ground, staring straight up at the clear sky. “I guess, you will say that all of this torment ends up for nothing.”

A loud groan muffled by his shirt is all he receives as an answer. After a while, Reisi lifts his head and rests his chin on Mikoto’s chest with annoyed look, “There are tons of complains I want to tell you. But first, just shut up. I’m tired.”

“Prick,” Mikoto retorts flatly without the contempt in it.

“Barbarian.”

He closes his eyes, knowing that the Blue King mirrors him, relishing in their temporary truce as they wait for their Clansmen to reach their place and provide aid. There is no way he could move from the way his legs feel like heavy logs.  
  


* * *

 

When Mikoto wakes up, he finds himself in an unfamiliar white ceiling.

He is partially afraid that the contented at the moment is all a dream and he will stir up to another day of hell. The storm of anger and discontent he has been experiencing for a whole week seems distant. If anything, he nearly feels empty but contently calm.

Then Mikoto starts to collect clues where he could be, when he notices that the bed feels too big and soft to be his and there is another body joining him on the other side of the bed. His amber eyes glanced to the left side, taking in the soft foreign features of Munakata’s sleeping face, within arm length from him. The latter looks several years younger when he sleeps, free from creases imbued with manipulative smirk or calculative look. His chest slowly rises and falls in lulling rhythm, signaling his deep sleep. He slumbers like a man free from trouble, if not for those dark circles under eyes and pale cheeks betraying that assumption.

The Red King shifts, immediately grits his teeth to stop the guttural noise rising from his throat as his body revolts against him with shattering spasm. He is so certain that he keeps it quiet, yet the pair of lavender eyes blink at him silently, with glittering clarity reflected on them when the sting ceases down and he faces the latter.

He starts dumbly, after failing appallingly in finding words, “Hey.”

A snort and something like a thin smile tugs on Munakata’s lips. “That is incredibly anticlimactic and idiotic to say after a confrontation that almost concludes in national-scale destruction.”

Mikoto rolls his eyes, grumbles at the sarcasm, “You are too conversational for someone who is almost dead.”

“I have no intent to accompany a dense barbarian to afterworld,” Munakata stifles a yawn and closes his eyes again as he mumbles softly, “This is last warning. Just shut up.” Mikoto kicks himself inwardly for already missing staring at those amethysts. The soft rhythmical breathing returns and Mikoto quickly finds the soothing void easily at its lull.  
  


* * *

 

One thing that he knows perfectly about Munakata; it’s his tenacity and immodesty when he decides on something. Whatever world throws at him, if the hard-headed man has made up his mind, he will enforce, manipulate, and exploit everything into his favor.

Therefore, days after him waking up on Scepter 4’s medical bay, when Mikoto is still reluctant to discuss about their newly found connection, Munakata unabashedly demands him to meet at a bar that they rarely visit. If he doesn’t know better, he will pretend he doesn’t remember that short, emotionless to the border of heartless call. But Mikoto somehow has inkling that if he refuses, the latter would just barge into the heart of Homra and drag the man out of the bed in front of his friends. Or worse, he will just threaten him with passive-aggressive attitude, just so Mikoto will repeat the horrible torture all over again.

So he drags his feet to the mentioned location, purposely and pettily being late an hour just to annoy the latter, since he knows how much Munakata honors punctuality. Mikoto walks into the bar, making his way to the stools in the corner of the shop. The spot is perfectly obscured from public view with misplaced pillars and the dim light offers further privacy. Yet dreadfully he can easily locate the Blue King among the crowd.

He curses himself at the skipped beat of his heart at the sight of his supposedly soulmate in civilian clothes. The cobalt-haired man wears an elbow-sleeved midnight-blue shirt with black slim pants, distinctively underdressed compared his uniform. His cocktail glass is still untouched in front of him as the said man busied himself with his PDA. He doesn’t look like someone who has been waiting long.

“If you are attempting to instigate my irritation for being late to forestall this conversation, you have failed miserably,” Those purple eyes never leave the screen as he speaks, “it is not difficult to anticipate that you will intentionally be late, at least an hour, a period of time which is in borderline rude, yet not too uncivilized, after all.”

It irks him to realize that Munakata seems to be able to read him to some extent, just like he does to the latter. “So you lie about the meeting hour,” Mikoto accuses flatly.

“Yes,” Munakata replies in a heartbeat. Then he puts his PDA in stealth mode and looks up at his rival. “It would be immature if you are annoyed when I outsmart you, you utter piece of trash of society.”

Mikoto feels a terrible urge to punch that triumphant smirk, soulmate or not.

“What do you want,” Mikoto says, sounding more like a statement than a question. He already gets the answer after all. It’s just a kind of opening speech and Munakata will be the one who does all the heavy talk.

“I would like to proffer you a deal,” Munakata exclaims without beating the bush. “Regular rendezvous once or twice in a week, just enough to keep the link at bay without triggering the withdrawal. The frequency will be determined through trial and error, but it would be best to start with twice a week, just to be safe.” A short pause. “I trust that none of us would like to go through that experience again for a while. Thus until there is a breakthrough on the method to break the soul link, I believe that this method would be the best interest for both of us.”

Mikoto sighs and leans his chin on his propped elbow on the counter, “You talk about this like talking about taking a medicine.”

Munakata tilts his head to the side and shrugs, “This arrangement is made based on the assumption that you have no intention at all to work on this soul bond. It might be my conceit, but forgive my candor; you are a sloth in majority aspect of your life, Suoh, if not all.”

A soulmate who insults him being the worst man alive in this hellhole with a deadpan look like he is talking about weather; what kind of sin he has committed for the world to hate him so?

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He argues, only to receive another pointed look.

“Yes, you are, after being deliberately late. I can see clearly your well intention to our bright future. What have I been thinking?” Munakata snaps with a sip of his drink.

Well, okay, that’s _partially_ his fault. But it doesn’t mean that Munakata is privileged to verbal abuse him! He listens to him and yet the latter rants on without any shred of civility. “If you only ask me to come to scorn at my face, I think you can do better with the wall,” Mikoto retorts with heavy annoyance, taking off from his seat.

He turns around and is about to leave when a hand grabs on his arm gently. Mikoto is in the middle of pulling his arm free when the genuine apologetic look on the man behind him stops him.

“I apologize. I don’t know how to speak with you without expressing my frustration about this soul bond. This is new and unfathomable for me. I realize that it is none of our fault with how the course of event is right now. I’m truly sorry for misdirecting that irritation at you.”

Mikoto exhales dramatically before he carefully extricates his arm from his soulmate’s grasp. He flops back to his seat and leans his back against the rim of the counter. “Okay.”

Munakata cocks an eyebrow at his curt answer. “Mind to elaborate?”

“I said okay. What else do you want to hear?”

It’s Munakata’s turn to roll his eyes, “Okay as okay, we are good or okay as we will do as I propose?”

“Both.”

Munakata takes a sharp inhale, momentarily expresses his bewilderment. “…Well, it went well. I thought you would require…further persuasion.”

“I keep my options open,” Mikoto shrugs and takes off from the stool with finality.

“I will notify you the appointment details on later date.”

He doesn’t answer, but he can feel the link between them more refined and purring with blithe promise. It is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Once again I’m sorry for whatever goes wrong in this fic. 
> 
> Summary symbol:  
> Reisi-Mikoto: Twin-wolves. Taken from Reisi’s sword’s name, Sirius. It actually has two stars, which one of them is so bright like sun. I actually prefer wolves since both of them are Alpha of their packs and dogs seem too lenient for them. Moreover, dogs and wolves are both canines, so, why not?
> 
> Seri-Izumo: Snakes (Yamata-no-Orochi). Based on Japanese mythology where Kusanagi is found from yamata-no-orochi and he married Suseri-hime.
> 
> Fushimi-Misaki: Raven. Based on Misaki’s name, and using primal zodiac, raven is combination of western sign scorpio and eastern sign monkey, which are completely Fushimi.
> 
> Anna-(implied!Sukuna):Bow and arrow. They are both Sagittarius. 
> 
> Tatara-?: Butterfly. It’s his power although I don’t know who to pair him with yet


End file.
